


Days of Hope

by LORBEERPRINZ



Series: Of Sorrow and Hope [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LORBEERPRINZ/pseuds/LORBEERPRINZ
Summary: (sequel to Days of Sorrow)The war had ended, Fódlan finally found peace. A peace which enabled the new archbishop Byleth and his beloved to take care of a few things that would ensure they were able to step into the future together. But the death of his best friend still kept hanging over Linhardt's mind and heart.
Relationships: Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Of Sorrow and Hope [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604497
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to my fic "Days of Sorrow", so if you haven't read that one, I would recommend you do so before reading this, mainly because its story (or rather, the underlying tragedy it deals with) directly influences what happens in this one. Being a sequel revolving around hope means this new one will not be as dramatic or full of tears as the first one, though, I mainly want to focus on Byleth and especially Linhardt continuing into the future in the face of what happened before.  
> (so... sorry if you were looking for more pain haha)

On the one hand, Byleth could look at this trip as some kind of vacation. He had only recently picked up his position as the new archbishop of the Church of Seiros, making his days packed to the brim with organisational matters, new challenges and lots and lots of paperwork. He didn’t mind any of this, had voluntarily taken up the position and Rhea’s legacy, but a few days to step back and take a deep breath were definitely in order.  
It hadn’t even been very long since the end of the war, Edelgard’s fall and Faerghus’ renewed independence. The war, the loss of old friends and students, his engagement to Linhardt  – it had all happened so quickly.  
He was glad Linhardt was with him. The mage had been through incredibly dark times after Caspar’s accidental death at his own hands, but with time and a lot of effort, Linhardt had managed to win the battle against the inner demons that had infested his mind in the aftermath. Byleth was glad he was getting better with each day and now that they were able to be together in peace, Linhardt repaid him plenty, reminded him to take breaks, forced himself and his demands for naps onto the archbishop. It definitely helped Byleth to not overwork himself while he was still getting accustomed to the life and responsibilities as the head of the church.  
While it wasn’t an even remotely similar situation, they were going through this together, just as they had before.

And so, Byleth had accompanied Linhardt on a trip back to his home in the Empire, his family’s territory. He knew what most of this return home was about, their wedding was soon, after all. But there was another part of this Linhardt had kept a secret, and yet Byleth was sure he knew what his fiancé wanted to do.

Now the two of them were sitting on luscious cushions in the Hevring estate’s salon, master and mistress of the house in front of them. On the small table between the two parties, a lavish yet elegant tea set had been placed, the hot drink’s fragrance filling the room.   
Angelica.

It was a rare occasion that Count von Hevring was home these days, the fall of Empress Edelgard and the restructuring of Adrestia’s entire government meant that the minister was mostly concerned with securing his position in these uncertain times. Dimitri had almost wanted to execute the empire’s entire government forces and replace them, something which Byleth had just narrowly managed to talk him out of.  
But for his son’s first return home since the end of the war, he just had to come and see he was alright, the Count had said. His wife had been predictably ecstatic to see her boy alive and well, had worked hard at holding back tears of joy that Linhardt himself had told her she shouldn’t shed.   
It was less that he didn’t understand his mother was glad to see him, Byleth was sure, but more a lingering feeling in the back of his head that still remained from Caspar’s death.   
He was improving with each day, but sometimes the old feelings would return for a bit. The archbishop was sure this trip back home would not make things easier.

But they were here for a reason.

The four of them enjoyed the tea and snacks in near-silence for a little bit, only exchanging smalltalk.   
Linhardt’s parents were glad and amazed a simple, former mercenary had worked his way into Garreg Mach and had gone on to lead the troops of Ferghus. The Count made sure to let Byleth know he wasn’t happy with the outcome, but at the same time he stressed he was thankful the former professor had brought his son through these gruesome times alive.  
He knew what had happened to Caspar. He and his wife had attended the funeral. 

Byleth was trying his best to hold most of the conversation, as Linhardt was tired from the long voyage and sunk deeper and deeper into the sofa as the afternoon went on. At first he had almost leaned on Byleth’s shoulder when tiredness kicked in, but decided to nestle against the other side in the last second.   
Even though they did not really have to hide it anymore.

Naturally, Linhardt’s mother at some point asked her son if there was a specific reason why he had come home now of all times. Her solemn face made obvious what she had in mind the mage was here for, and she probably wasn’t too wrong.  
Linhardt pushed himself up and presented his hand  – or more specifically, the ring on one of his fingers. Together with a confident smile, Byleth thought he could see a little bit of a blush creeping onto the green-haired’s cheeks. What a beautiful sight.

“I wanted to invite you to my wedding.”

Silence followed.

Byleth wasn’t surprised about this reaction at all, and it took what seemed like an eternity until Linhardt’s parents unfroze. The Countess’s face lit up.

“Why, you’re engaged! You should have told us earlier! But of course I’m glad you found someone to spend your life with, I can’t wait to meet her. You’ve been… growing up a lot throughout this war…”  
Her husband nodded at her every word, took a long sip of his tea before speaking up.  
“Congratulations, my boy. But why didn’t you bring your betrothed along to introduce her to us?”

“Oh, but I did”, Linhardt replied, his eyes wandering to the side to meet with Byleth’s, smile growing even brighter. His parents took a moment to understand, but when they did, their own smiles vanished and gave way to cautious confusion.  
Slowly, Count von Hevring lowered his teacup while his wife rose hers without taking a sip. She seemed to stop midway in her movement, maybe as realization about what her child had just said begun to set in.

“That’s… an interesting joke you’re trying to make there, Lin…”

Linhardt sighed lightly, his hand wandering towards Byleth’s, squeezing it softly but visibly enough. His fingers slipped into the archbishop’s palm, thumb running over the back of his hand.  
“I’m not joking, of course.”

More silence.

“I know what you’re thinking”, the mage broke the quiet, “the Professor  – I mean, Byleth  – is a man, so no children, no heir and all of that. But just so you know, I never wanted any children, it would have been the same if I was marrying a woman. You would have to make another child or adopt one or something like that either way.”

The minister on the other side of the table picked up his teacup again, seemingly with the sole purpose of placing it back onto the saucer as loudly as he could without breaking it.  
Byleth wasn’t surprised. It was no secret even to him that within the circles of the highborn, an adequate heir was almost more important than a clan’s wealth or estate. It ensured the lineage continued  – especially when a crest was involved  – and that the power stayed within the family, guaranteed that any centuries-old pedigree was not tarnished. 

Being the only child of this family, Linhardt was theoretically not in the position to decide he would not want any children, but he was a thickhead like that.   
Byleth vaguely remembered notes he had written to Garreg Mach’s advice box years ago, lamenting the fact that his family was pushing him towards fatherhood against his will. While he was sure while his fiancé wasn’t lying when he had said it would be similar was he dating a woman, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Linhardt might have already had feelings for Caspar at that time.

“Linhardt”, the young man’s father began, staring at his son with eyes as blue as his boy’s, “you’re still young and I know you’re a blockhead, but please think of this house’s future. Bringing the responsibility back to us is quite selfish.”

“Is that so”, his son responded, hand still firmly locked with Byleth’s. His smile had vanished a little while ago upon noticing how unamused his parents were with the prospect of their child marrying a man.  
“Wouldn’t you say that pushing this responsibility onto your child without caring for what said child wants is selfish as well?”  
He returned his father’s stare, which was almost a glare at this point. In an attempt to defuse the situation just a little, Byleth let go of Linhardt’s hand, wished there was something he could say to improve the atmosphere. But at this moment, it was probably better to stay silent.

Count von Hevring sighed and sunk back into the sofa, suddenly resembling his son more than ever. Linhardt was more of a combination of both of his parents, so there were moments in which Byleth was able to catch similarities to him in them both.  
But instead of appearing tired, the minister crossed his arms as his expression softened up ever so slightly.

“I have to admit you’re not entirely wrong. And yet, that won’t solve the problem at hand  – how is our family supposed to stay alive without you? Think about your lineage, Linhardt, your crest, even.”

For a moment, the mage sunk into thoughts, yawned just a little later before facing his parents again.   
It was a spectacle Byleth had seen countless times at this point and that felt so absolutely and uniquely like him that the archbishop was sure no other person in the world would react this way. Discussions and thoughts about things he didn’t entirely care about made Linhardt incredibly tired very quickly, his parents surely knew about that. They patiently waited for their son to respond.

“Well, the Crest could definitely pose a problem, but it’s not impossible to solve. After all, the Hevring family doesn’t consist of just us three, you have quite a lot of siblings, don’t you, father. Any of your numerous nephews and nieces could be prepared to succeed you in your position and still keep it within the family. Not to mention the Crest of Cethleann runs in your side of the family too, so any of my cousins’ children could be born with it. It’s just a matter of time and patience. Sure, I’d prefer to keep the Crest close, but then again… I can hardly study it when I’m dead, can I…”

He yawned again.

Countess von Hevring smiled again, took another tiny sip of her tea and giggled a little.  
“As expected, you have an answer to everything, Lin. It’s probably not all that easy, but it’s surely a st – Oh!”

Byleth reacted just in time as Linhardt’s head slid off his shoulder and was about to sink into his lap, grabbed the other man by the shoulders and maneuvered the sleeping scholar into a hopefully comfortable position on the sofa.  
He glanced over to Linhardt’s parents, who did not seem too terribly surprised. From what Byleth knew, the mage had been fighting the demons of sleep all throughout his life, parents and household staff were all probably used to the sight. But he wasn’t sure how used these people were to seeing their son handled by pretty much a stranger.

Byleth was left alone with Count von Hevring as his wife accompanied the staff members that hauled Linhardt into his old bedroom with swift routine.  
Once again, the man stressed that he was thankful the new archbishop had made sure his son made it through the war alive, that he had helped the mage through the dark times after Caspar’s death. 

“I’m not amused about this situation, though”, he continued, “you’re aware that none of us would be in this… peculiar situation without your involvement in the war, I assume. At this point I cannot even begin to count the ways in which our family might be doomed to fall into obscurity.”  
He leaned back, arms folded, eyes firmly set on the ex-professor. Byleth thought he had heard a gruntled sigh from him. 

The Count was a lot like his son right now. Both men tried to stay calm for as long as possible in the face of dilemma, to keep their steadfast, dignified postures and instead let their minds rule their actions. Byleth knew that was not always possible, had seen Linhardt’s breaking point, which had been so intense the memories made Byleth shiver until today. It still had both of them in their grip, if only just a little.   
It seemed that the Hevring clan’s men, nobles through and through, preferred to worry silently instead of breaking into big panic. It was something Byleth could understand quite well, as he had never experienced for himself how it was to end in one of the smaller or greater outbreaks of angst or rage like some of his students and comrades had.  
But he could easily see the Count’s arms were folded into one another more tightly than earlier, how the wrinkles on his forehead grew deeper and deeper. 

“I’ll do everything I can to ensure your life will not be affected  – or anyone’s lives, for that matter.”

No response from the minister.

“And of course, I will take care of Linhardt for the rest of my own life.”

Byleth smiled. It was the first time he said it like that, announced his love for the mage to someone else. Sure, the two of them had told their comrades about the engagement, but this was something entirely different. It felt so  _ real _ .

“I understand your concerns, though”, he added, “but please be assured that we will find a solution. We have to  – it’s Linhardt, after all, he and that big head of his wouldn’t back down from his conviction anyway. I’ve seen it first hand, believe me.”

A sigh.

“I fear you’re right, sir…”

After the Countess returned, the evening continued normally, just without the sleeping Linhardt. Nobody really spoke of it, it truly was a normal sight in this house to find the young master snoozing away in any sort of random corner, Byleth was told by a talkative maid. Linhardt missing dinner was accounted for as well, a meal waiting for whenever he would wake up in the middle of the night.  
And so it was only Byleth who sat down with the Count and Countess von Hevring to eat in the evening and converse a little more afterwards.  
Somehow, the archbishop’s plans to marry Linhardt were ignored for the moment, maybe for the sake of peace. Of course, that was not going to solve anything either.   
But the conversations, while rather trivial, were quite pleasant nontheless and from the minister’s account of his current work situation Byleth learned quite a bit about how things were progressing within the defeated Empire at the time. Valuable information he could use to negotiate between King Dimitri and the temporarily installed emergency rulership of Adrestia.   
When Byleth was finally shown his guest bedroom, he was more exhausted than he would have imagined at the beginning of the day.

Just when the ex-professor was getting himself ready to go to bed, there was a knock at the door.  
Without even waiting for him to ask his guest inside, the door opened and Linhardt slipped into the room. He smiled, wished his fiancé a good evening and immediately made for Byleth’s bed.  
The archbishop sat down next to him, ran a finger through Linhardt’s green strands. The mage sighed and rolled around until he had maneuvered his head onto Blyeth’s lap, their eyes locking in a long, silent moment. Once again, Byleth’s fingers danced around the mage’s hair.

“How did the evening go?”, Linhardt asked, soft voice seemingly almost drifting into sleep once again.  
“I’m not sure”, Byleth admitted, “but I don’t think they have quite accepted our decision yet. I mean, I suppose their worries are justified from their perspective... We can only wait and see.”  
Linhardt let out a loud sigh that was almost more of a groan. He stretched, almost carelessly slapped one hand into Byleth’s face.

“Haaa… sometimes I feel all of this would be much easier if I wasn’t a part of this noble house…”

Byleth was unsure what to reply. Obviously, they would probably have never met had Linhardt not been part of house Hevring  – or any noble family, for that matter. There was also the question whether the mage would have been able to indulge in his interests for crests and sleep as much as he did had he been just a commoner. But he also knew his beloved was relatively indifferent to the power and even the fortune his family carried, even though he was, basically, not even able to completely escape his social class once he was married to the head of Fódlan’s biggest religion anyway.

The mercenary twirled some of Linhardt’s silken hair around one finger, wished he had a solution that would satisfy both parties.   
Byleth really wanted the mage’s parents to attend the wedding, it was already sad enough Jeralt could not. Alois had been ecstatic to hear Byleth was getting married, was sure Jeralt would be just as happy, no matter who his son married, as long as he was happy. It was a shame he was unable to see the ring he had left behind on the finger of the one person Byleth had given his heart to.   
He didn’t want Linhardt to be similarly left without his family on their most important day.

The green-haired wrapped his arms around Byleth’s waist, curled up until he could rest his head against his lap, holding the other man in a firm, warm grip.

“Hey Byleth… won’t you come to my room for the night…? The bed is so much bigger than this one…”

The archbishop sighed. It was true the two of them had not slept apart from one another since that night they had exchanged rings and admitted their love for each other, and sharing a bed had quickly become so natural the thought they would not be together this night felt admittedly a little weird.  
But in the light of today’s conversations, Byleth was also sure sharing one room was not a great idea, he didn’t want to fan the flames any further. He was still not entirely sure how well Linhardt’s parents had taken the news of their son marrying a man and was of the opinion it was better to lay low until a solution had been found.   
It pained him, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Once they were back at the monastery, they could spend all the time in the world coddled up in each other’s arms.

It took some persuasion, but finally he managed to get Linhardt back to his own bed. He hoped none of the house staff had seen them to draw their own conclusions, as far as he was aware the servants knew nothing of their relationship yet. And whenever rumors started to flow, no matter how true they were to begin with, assumptions would always become much wilder than reality could ever be. 

Sleeping alone did truly feel unusually lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

Linhardt was awake unusually early the next morning, but as Byleth realized quickly, this was mostly so he could grab his betrothed and be on another voyage with him.  
They weren’t going back home yet, however.  
Instead, the two men boarded a carriage through Adrestia, towards a certain territory. True to form, Linhardt fell asleep once again almost the moment he had sat down next to Byleth, resting on his shoulder. The archbishop had expected this to happen, the mage had spent most of their travel here asleep, after all. At this point, he was already used to the feeling of Linhardt’s head and warm breath against his shoulder for prolonged periods of time.  
In fact, he enjoyed it.

The mage had mentioned how much the previous day had exhausted him, that he hated discussing anything with his father. His old man was a bullhead through and through, he claimed, and this was indeed what fanned the conflicts with Caspar’s father on a regular basis.  
Linhardt himself was simply too tired to deal with him most of the time and would go along with his wishes.   
“But if I let him have his will this time”, he’d sighed when he had boarded the carriage at Byleth’s side, “then my life will never be the way I want it to. So I guess… it’s better for everyone to cool their heads for a bit.”  
He would groan a little before nestling against Byleth, and the archbishop had noticed the concern on his beloved’s face before he had drifted into sleep. Surely, Linhardt was tired of running away, but couldn’t find the right way to confront his old man.  
Byleth would softly rub Linhardt’s arm periodically over the course of their journey, just signalizing he was there. No matter whether the scholar decided for fight or flight, he would always be there for him. They had gotten through worse things together.

They stopped by the outskirts of Fort Merceus briefly, where Linhardt took a long breath after leaving the carriage. The mage seemed frozen for a moment, staring into nothingness.  
Only as Byleth softly put a hand on his shoulder, patting it lightly, he returned to the present – a present in which the fortified town slowly recovered from the war, rubbing away its own bloody wounds and scars from months before.   
Life was returning to the Fort.

Linhardt got moving again and slowly made his way through a busy street without a word, entered a shop.  
Byleth didn’t follow him inside, knew the mage would be better off with a little bit of privacy for the moment. He simply sent a guard after him, instructing him to keep his distance, and patiently waited by the carriage until his fiancé came back with his purchase.

The mage didn’t fall asleep for the rest of the trip anymore, and yet he was unusually quiet.   
When they were by themselves, Linhardt would often fall into excited chatter about his newest research and discoveries, as if he never had any other opportunity to tell Byleth all about it. The archbishop understood only about half of what Linhardt always went on and on about, but he appreciated the excitement, loved to listen to the scholar’s quite unique thought processes. It made him feel like there was still much to learn and discover about his future husband.  
But for now, Linhardt just sat there as the roads brushed along the vast ends of Gronder Field, staring at the purchase in his lap in silence.

It did not take them long to finally arrive at their destination.   
A small village marked the end of their journey, but they weren’t here for that. Outside of said village laid an impressive estate, clearly old, but just as obviously dignified. It reminded Byleth a little of the Hevring family’s home, maybe both places were built around the same time period. He could easily see himself get lost in both of these estates, had been rather impressed by what he had seen of Linhardt’s home before.   
Villas like these always reminded him of Garreg Mach a little, places that were decades, even centuries old, hiding their age behind glamorous adornments which underlined the air of grandeur. This one sat on a little hill watching over the village and the rest of the Bergliez territory, its worn brickwork shining in the light of the midday sun. 

It was inviting the two travellers, but they would not enter.  
Instead, Byleth and Linhardt silently trekked towards the other side of said hill, the archbishop following along as his soon-to-be husband lead the way.  
When they arrived at the nearby graveyard, Byleth stopped and watched as Linhardt traversed the small field of graves with swift precision. A tomb that stood out from the other, rather simple resting places with its precise stonework and impressive size was his goal. Its white outside walls glowed in the sunlight, obviously it had been cleaned and returned to its former splendor not too long ago.

Linhardt laid his purchase down in front of the closed entrance – a small bouquet of flowers, white lilies mixed with hyacinths in blue.

He remained for just a moment, then turned and was ready to leave.

A figure approached from the other side, called out for the mage.  
Linhardt froze in place, watching as the man came closer. Byleth thought he could see familiar facial features in him, but right now couldn’t quite remember where he knew those features from. The two men stared at each other for a moment, until the stranger spoke up.

“Didn’t expect you to come here of all people. You couldn’t even come to his funeral but suddenly you’re crawling back? Gimme a break…”

The mage opened his mouth wanting to say something, but froze upon one word from the other man.

“Murderer.”

Silence from Linhardt.

“After all we did for you, this is how you thank Caspar and us for our hospitality. Didn’t I always treat you like a second brother?! My parents fed you like you’re part of our family! And yet you… you don’t just go and dirty Caspar, you even turn around and take his life!”

“I… what…”

Linhardt crossed his arms, but it was easy to see for Byleth even from a distance how much he was clutching to the fabric of his sleeves. Slowy, he took a few steps backward, but the other man would not let him go, took just as many steps towards the scholar.   
By now Byleth had understood who that man was, but was unsure for a moment whether to intervene or not.

“Look, I never wanted to… I’ll just leave now.”

Finally, Linhardt seemed to have found the right moment to go, but just as he turned, Caspar’s brother called his name again, made the young man look back once more for just a second.   
But that one second was just enough for the other man to dart forward, grab Linhardt to yank him around and put all of his force into his blow.

“Linhardt!!”

Byleth rushed towards his fiancé, who found himself on the ground after the sharp, unexpected impact. He pressed one hand against his nose, hissed in pain and winced when he removed it and found blood on his fingers.  
The archbishop drew a handkerchief from Linhardt’s own pocket and held it at the latter’s nose, watching as it was slowly being colored red. He helped Linhardt up and turned to face the aggressor.

“Oh”, Caspar’s brother began, “so you’re the fabled archbishop. You’re just as responsible for this as him, aren’t you. It’s your fault Adrestia went under, that we’re all in this situation now, it’s your fault Caspar is dead. After all, you’re the one housing this… this _traitor_! First he gets his dirty hands on Caspar, sullies him an–”

“What are you even talking about?”, Byleth interrupted him. It wasn’t quite the archbishop’s style to indulge himself in heated debates, had always kept to the principle that the best results could only be achieved if everyone stayed as levelheaded as possible.   
But something was different here. This man had hurt his beloved, and he seemed more than ready to do it again.  
Byleth would never let that happen.

“Huh, you don’t even know?”  
The eldest Bergliez son flashed a tiny, triumphant smile. It was gone just a second later, making way for more anger. Byleth wasn’t entirely surprised about this display; Caspar’s death had reportedly shaken his family up quite harshly. No one should have to bury their son or younger brother.

“So you have no idea that this idiot here ensnared my brother and pulled him into a dirty, rotten world of sin. Oh, don’t think nobody noticed it, Lin, it was quite self-evident. Maybe not to mother, I don’t know, but to anyone else it was pretty obvious you did it with him. Everyone knew! And then what, did you get bored of him? Found someone better? Did Caspar have to die to keep your dirty little secret alive?!”

Linhardt sighed, rubbed his arms briefly. His nose looked terrible, bright red and tiny bits of blood still dripping from it, which the crest scholar quickly attempted to catch with his handkerchief again, disgusted by the red stains on it. He winced again, crushed the handkerchief into a ball and reached into his jacket to pull out another one.   
Byleth didn’t even know he carried two.  
The former professor took the bloodied cloth from his betrothed so he wouldn’t have to deal with the blood Linhardt despised so much.  
Just when Byleth thought with some pangs of regret that Linhardt was not going to defend himself and instead just let accusations rain on him, the mage sighed a little and somewhat awkwardly, considering his nose was completely out of commission for now. 

“Why does it even matter what Caspar and I did together? He wasn’t going to inherit anything to begin with. He didn’t even have a crest. Wouldn’t that mean he should be able to choose whoever he wants to be with on his own accord?”

“That doesn’t mean he can bring shame on our family! He might not have had a crest or inheritance, but still a duty.”

Linhardt sighed again, locked his gaze with Byleth. He understood and agreed. There wasn’t really anything left to be said that would help the situation.  
It was high time to leave.

The archbishop gently pushed Linhardt along on his arm, glanced back one last time. He wouldn’t say he was expecting another attack from the bigger man they were leaving behind, but his old mercenary instincts compelled him to not entirely turn his back onto someone who had just thrown a fist at him and his beloved.   
Caspar’s brother shot air from his nose as loudly as he could, spat on the ground. Their eyes locked for a moment.

“Be careful, oh great archbishop, else you might wake up with a knife in your back one morning. You’re associating yourself with a black widow.”

“What is this commotion all about, gentlemen?”, a voice suddenly came from behind Caspar’s brother, calmly and yet booming.  
“Can my family not rest in peace?”

It was immediately obvious to Byleth that who had just arrived was none other than Adrestia’s Minister of Military Affairs himself, coming towards the trio with slow, but firm steps.  
He looked almost like he would have imagined an older Caspar, Byleth thought. A stouty man whose eldest son easily towered over him, though not so much that it would look ridiculous. With neatly shaven hair and beard, perfectly arranged clothes and his straight posture, he seemed like the incarnation of discipline itself. In his days as a commander, Byleth had never faced the Minister and Captain on the battlefield, but he knew he was feared and the longer he looked at him, the more he could imagine that with a weapon in hand, this man would make for a formidable opponent.  
He was glad they had never had had to face off against each other.

“Father, look who’s back!”

“Yes”, the minister replied calmly, letting his eyes wander between the three men in front of him, “I am not blind. You have grown up quite a bit, Linhardt, but it’s unmistakably you. Franky, I never expected to see you here.”

“We were just about to leave”, Byleth replied in Linhardt’s stead and once again began backing up. Immediately, however, Minister von Bergliez locked his gaze with that of the archbishop, an almost paralyzing stare that made him understand he was not going to let the two of them go that easily. He did not seem to respect, let alone fear, Byleth’s position as the highest man of the Church – and more importantly, as the one intermediating between the new King of Faergus and what was left of the Adrestian Empire.  
But that was fine. If he wanted to say or do something, Byleth preferred if he did so on eye level.

“Am I right in my assumption that you’re the one who lead the rebellion next to Prince Dimitri? Don’t answer that. I know you’re the one, that you were appointed archbishop after the war, everyone knows that. But just like with Linhardt, I’m more than just surprised to find you here in all places.”

“I’m terribly sorry about what happened to Caspar”, Byleth stressed, “and as commander at that time I take full res–”

“I know how it is, not to worry. It was war, after all. Don’t get me wrong, I was just as shaken by his death as anyone, as his father probably even more so. I didn’t put my own son onto the battlefield with the expectation of him finding death, of course not, he was an exceptionally talented warrior. I honestly believed he would be able to hold the Fort successfully. You managed to overthrow the entire defense, sir, a by no means small feat. But my son died defending his homeland, so I cannot be anything but proud of him.  
As for you, Linhardt, I would lie if I said the fact it was you who stroke him down didn’t shock me. It was a difficult battle not letting this incident strain my relationship to your own father any further, but in the end, it would not have felt right in my opinion. Just like him, you were following orders, you were both mere soldiers on the battlefield. Had the situation been reversed, I am absolutely sure Caspar could have never forgiven himself had you been the one to die.   
However… I also have to admit my view of you has changed. We always housed you gladly, you know that, and I know you’re not someone to senselessly shed blood. I heard how shaken you were. But I cannot help but look at you and see the killer of my own son, accidentally or not. I know, it’s unreasonable and shameful, and yet… I suppose, I am nothing more but a mourning father.  
And as you also can see, some people let their pain be turned into anger. That’s why I would indeed advice you to avoid this place from here on out.”

Linhardt nodded in agreement, slightly winced once again and briefly pressed a palm against his temple. After that, his hand was about to slip into Byleth’s, stopping himself just short of doing so. He formed a fist instead, kneaded it for a while in silence.   
The two Bergliez men watched this insecure display, the son frowning while the father just stared with the same straightforwardness he had shown throughout the short conversation.

“Good luck for your future, gentlemen.”

“Father…!”

“Enough of it! Are you trying to disturb Caspar’s grave with endless discussions that change nothing at all?”

“N… no…”

The two were the first to turn and leave for good, and it seemed to Byleth that they were engaged in a sort of conversation or even discussion right after they were out of earshot.   
The archbishop reached for Linhardt’s hand, slowly slipping his fingers into the still clenched fist of his fiancé. He let it happen, opened the fist just enough that their hands enwrapped each other as the scholar looked at the Bergliez family tomb and the flowers he had left one more time. He took a deep breath through the mouth, then locked eyes with Byleth again.

“Let’s go.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, not inventing any names for canonically unnamed characters was kind of a bad decision, as it makes writing them kind of awkward xD Meanwhile, hyacinths represent playfulness and rashness in victorian times. Blue ones specifically are linked to sincerity. Thanks to the FE Compendium Discord for their flower suggestions!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this final chapter took me so long to finish, I was sick in the meantime orz But therefore it's also longer than the others and hopefully wraps up the story nicely!

On the carriage ride back to Hevring territory, Byleth gently treated his beloved’s wound with magic. He examined him carefully, made sure no teeth were lost or bone was broken, and it seemed like he had been lucky enough to avoid such fate. A broken bone might be nothing a bit of magic couldn’t heal, but it was not uncommon for such ex-fractures to emit some sort of phantom pain later on. The worst that could happen in Linhardt’s case, however, was that he might end up with a bit of a crooked nose, nothing terribly awful, but surely not something the scholar would be all too happy about.  
For all the ways he tended to proclaim that he didn’t care about his looks and absolutely couldn’t understand that the ladies of Garreg Mach envied his smooth hair and soft skin, he did make sure to maintain this near-flawless look. And he knew exactly Byleth liked it.  
Well, Byleth wouldn’t care if Linhardt’s nose ended up a little out of shape. He wasn’t going to marry him for his outer beauty, after all, but for the person he was inside that pretty frame.

Linhardt thanked him for the treatment with a kiss before slipping back into a nap for the most part of their journey back towards his old home.

When he woke up again, the carriage was already way inside Hevring territory, lush, green trees watching over the voyagers from both sides of the road. Linhardt stared out of the small window in the carriage door for a moment, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.  
Absentmindedly, he touched his nose again, pressed around on it for a bit even though he should know better than to do this and provoke more bleeding. 

After a few minutes of watching the trees passing by, the scholar ordered the carriage to stop, left it, stretched and invited his fiancé to follow him. He wanted to show Byleth something, he said with a gentle smile and a hand held out to him. Of course, Byleth could  – and  _ wanted  _ to  – do nothing but to take it and follow him.  
He reached for Linhardt’s hand, letting himself be led down the small stairs from the carriage.

The guards were not happy to hear that the new archbishop and his betrothed were planning to walk the rest of the way alone, but they had no choice but to obey.   
And so, the carriage drove on empty while Byleth followed Linhardt off the road and on a small path through the woods. 

This forest wasn’t very thick, but housed plenty of life, trees and plants standing proudly in the late afternoon sun. Birds sang from the trees, a squirrel rushed past them here and there.  
Byleth wasn’t entirely sure what Linhardt wanted to exactly show him deep inside these woods. A secret childhood hideout maybe? After all, the Hevring estate was already visible in the distance. Linhardt might not have had the energy to go out into the woods that deep on his own, Byleth assumed, but maybe Caspar had been enough to motivate him.  
But why would he want to visit a place that might bring back memories of a happier time with his friend…

Finally, Linhardt stopped at a small river, scooped up some water to wash the last bits of residual blood from his face. Byleth handed him one of his own handkerchiefs to let him dry his face and hands.  
“It smells like you...”, Linhardt commented afterwards with a happy sigh, “I really like it. Can I keep it?”

With a small laugh, Byleth pressed the handkerchief into his beloved’s hands, against the logical conclusion that it would naturally take on Linhardt’s smell after some time instead. But if he really wanted it, he could have it.   
Byleth would give him anything in the world.

“Now”, Linhardt continued, “what I wanted to show you is… Well, do you know where the name ‘Hevring’ comes from?”  
Not even waiting for an answer, the scholar yawned shortly and pointed at the river to their feet.  
“This is the river Heve. It’s not very big, but flows prominently through these parts of Adrestia into the sea. Most of it lies within our territory. And if you follow its flow or look at it on a map…”  
The two walked along the riverside until they reached the end of the forest and an open field. Byleth found vast grasslands before him, followed by agricultural fields to one side and the Hevring estate to the other. Easily, he could see what Linhardt was trying to show him.  
“...you will see that it takes a wide curve through the territory. In other words, it forms kind of a ring  – the Heve-Ring, if you will. Over time, the name was contracted into ‘Hevring’ and given to this part of the land and, because people are vain like that, the ruling clan over this place took it for their own. And was then given a Crest, but that’s a whole other story that will take hours to tell. I can do that when we’re back at home, if you like.”

Linhardt smiled upon the prospect of talking about the entire history of the relationship between the Hevring bloodline and Saint Cethleann and her crest. And his smiles that came from his passion for crest research and their history were among the most beautiful.  
Maybe Byleth really should find a free day to let his future husband just ramble on about it. He would learn more about him and his family, and he was sure it would make the scholar happy.  
But this short lecture about the geography of these parts of Adrestia had been quite interesting as well.

“I’m surprised you know all of that”, the archbishop commented.

Linhardt shrugged.  
“My father expected me to take over the Ministry and thus also the reign over this territory one day, so of course he hammered all of this into me from early on. I guess I can’t help but not forget it, for some reason. Can you imagine how hard forgetting actually is if you actively want to do it?”

“But you don’t have to forget it”, Byleth argued softly. He looked across the fields and grasses, watched as a fox rushed by in the distance. Further out, the carriage that had transported them stood in front of the Hevring estate’s gates. Someone was cleaning it.  
“It may not be all that useful, but it doesn’t hurt having it. After all, it’s not only part of this place’s history, but also of that of your family  – and thus, your own.”

“It’s just taking up space in my head I could better use for something else”, the scholar replied. He joined his fiancé in staring into the distance, although it seemed he was merely looking into nothingness once again. The sun was setting, orange hues reflecting in his eyes. It seemed like his sharp profile had not been tainted by the earlier incident. However, Byleth had troubles distinguishing whether the shades of red around his nose were a leftover from earlier or just a bit of a blush.   
“After all, I’m probably not coming back here ever again...”

The archbishop squeezed his hand.  
“Don’t say that…”

They watched the sunset for some longer while the small silhouette of a person walked along the narrow pathway through the fields against the tender rays of twilight.  
With swaying skirts and hair, the figure approached them, waved a little when it was close enough to enable Byleth to begin making out who it really was.  
As Countess von Hevring approached, her face was dipped in shadows, but her smile was all the brighter.   
“She likes to take walks in the evening”, Linhardt explained as though he had read Byleth’s mind.

“Lin, Your Grace! I was already a little worried when I saw the empty carriage but neither of you two. I hope you’re enjoying the nice weather as much as I do. Oh, but… Lin, what… what happened to you…?”  
She reached out to gently touch her son’s face, concern suddenly running all over her.   
“It’s nothing”, he replied with a little sigh, “I’m fine, thanks to Byleth.”  
Like the day before, the young scholar glanced over to the man next to him, smiled a little.  
His mother joined him, her smile too directed at Byleth. Her soft features framed by green curls were so much like her son’s, clearly he had inherited his beauty from her. Once again, Byleth easily saw how both of his parents influenced the whole package that was Linhardt, from inside and out.

“Thank you for taking care of my son, I’m so glad he found someone to share his life with. Frankly though, I would have liked to be a grandmother one day, but what can I say when this is what makes my child happy. Look, Lin, I know your father is not as pleased as I am, even now that the initial shock has worn off. But he’ll get used to it, I’m sure. I know you’ll come to an agreement, you’re both very smart men.”  
And with a little wink, she added: “And I’ll make him attend your wedding, if he wants to or not. Just trust me.”

The three of them walked back to the estate together, during which the Countess casually noted that Linhardt’s aunt and uncle had arrived today. It was a regular visit, but they too were thrilled to see their nephew again after the gruesome war. Linhardt’s uncle was just as confused about the scholar’s plans for the future as his brother was, the lady recounted, the two Hevring men making it a longer and more intense topic of their conversations throughout the day than she had expected.

It was only a matter of time until the entire Hevring clan, and then probably the citizens, found out that the house’s young master was going to marry another man. Hopefully, the Countess added, the fact that his spouse was the new archbishop would make it less of a scandal.  
Or more of one, Linhardt added.  
It was definitely a dangerous situation in this light.

“I’ll think of something”, the mage promised, but in Byleth’s ears, his voice did not reflect as much confidence as he had probably wished to display. He squeezed the other man’s hand.  
“I’ll definitely think of something”, he repeated.

The ensuing evening was almost a word-by-word repetition of the previous night. Linhardt battled his urge to sleep just enough to be awake during dinner this time around, but the questions and comments his uncle and aunt had for him were pretty much exactly the same the two of them had already answered the day before.   
It seemed this pair of nobles was not quite contempt with hearing a second-hand account of all of these stories, they wanted to know everything from Linhardt in person.  
The biggest difference was that neither the Count’s brother nor the latter’s wife showed much of any interest in Byleth himself, they almost completely ignored him during the conversation at the dinner table. Noticing this, Countess von Hevring tried her best to involve Byleth, stressing over and over again how glad she was he had taken care of her son during the war but her relatives were mostly glossing over all of that. As Byleth could decipher from the conversation, it appeared the pair was not very fond of the church and had firmly sided with their homeland during the war, had lost another family member in the attack on Enbarr.  
Once again, Byleth found it was a better idea to lay low.

“And you’re not going to be swayed in your conviction, I assume”, Linhardt was asked by his uncle over his last bites of dinner, “trying to run away from your responsibilities like usual. Well, you’ve always been a big blockhead, huh.”

“I wouldn’t call it running away”, the scholar argued, “but rather… moving on. I want to move on, that’s all.”

The other two Hevring men exchanged looks that Byleth found hard to interpret. They both were unhappy with Linhardt’s decision, that was for sure, and would rather prefer if he returned home for good and things went on like they had always been meant to. Work for the government, marry an adequate candidate, take over house Hevring one day.  
But it was never going to happen, and while Linhardt’s uncle was open in his disappointment and annoyance, his father seemed to have gained at least a little bit of understanding in the past twenty-four hours. His biggest hope for now was to reach an agreement everyone could be satisfied with.

Byleth wasn’t sure how much Linhardt would be willing to compromise, however.

For the remainder of the evening, his fiancé was pulled into a deep, private conversation about his future by his father and uncle, which the scholar only very reluctantly joined. He wanted to sleep so bad, he sighed, but Count von Hevring made clear he wouldn’t let his son go to bed until they were through with this talk. He better had very convincing arguments to get this over with quickly.  
Or agree to call off the wedding and keep everything the way it was, Byleth added in his mind.

The archbishop, meanwhile, spent his evening entertaining the Countess and her sister-in-law while the former tried her best to convince the latter that Linhardt’s marriage plans would not be the end of the world or the Hevring bloodline, even. He had survived a war and had fought for someone he believed in, he deserved to choose how to spend his own life, she had decided.  
The other woman was not as convinced, but hoped whatever would finally come out of this talk was not going to change anything when it came to her own family life.

In the end, the three men were still locked in their negotiations when Byleth went to sleep.

* * *

The archbishop was woken up the next morning rather early by an amount of shuffling and whispers on the floor before his guest bedroom that seemed unusual for this household. As Byleth was unable to find sleep after having noticed it once, he decided to dress and find out what the excitement was all about.

Following the whispers and giggles of the house staff, Byleth trotted along the floors of the Hevring estate until he found a cluster of people  – servants and family members alike gathering in one further end of the house, close to the salon.  
As the cluster dissolved little by little upon Byleth’s arrival, the archbishop found Linhardt among his father and uncle, yawning heavily and visibly struggling to keep his eyes open. He must have let go of his knot at some point during the night, his hair falling freely along his shoulders and face until he lazily tried to push some of it back. The mage was clutching a paper scroll of some sort as his father lightly patted the young man’s shoulder, his eyes shadowy and baggy as well. Linhardt’s uncle, meanwhile, joined his nephew in a short yawn and tried to straighten his clothes.   
The two older men’s wives had joined the group before Byleth, the lady of the house smiling proudly whereas her sister-in-law appeared to be rather neutral to what was going on in front of her. Or, the mercenary thought, maybe she was just tired as well.

The one person who was very obviously tired, however, lit up the moment he saw Byleth. Suddenly it was as if Linhardt had never seemed to fall asleep on the spot, excitement sparkling in his eyes, lips curling into a bright beam.  
He unrolled the scroll in his hands, presented it to the archbishop with an exhausted but radiant smile.  
Byleth for the moment had no idea what was written on this paper, saw only a stream of small writing and several lines for signatures. Most were filled in already, but it seemed one signature was still missing.  
For a moment, nobody said a word, waiting eagerly for Linhardt, or either of the other men, to explain what this night-long conversation had resulted in.   
He approached Byleth, holding the apparent contract up for him to read, smile never fading.

“I did it”, the scholar breathed, “I can step down from my title and the house!”

Nobody dared to speak up, even Byleth wasn’t sure what to reply.  
Countess von Hevring’s face froze for a moment until her eyes darted around to meet her husband’s. The man cleared his throat.

“No worries, it’s not as dire as you might think it is. Linhardt is exaggerating quite a bit.”

“I’m not exaggerating”, his son protested, almost pouted, “this document will officially remove my title as a noble and all my connections to house Hevring. So basically, I’ll be a commoner until we’re married, Byleth.”  
“Don’t think we’re letting him go just like that, though”, Linhardt’s uncle added, “there are two sides to every coin. He still has duties to fulfill. Until my children are of the right age to take up the Ministry position, Linhardt will still have to succeed my dear brother should something happen to him. Which, of course, I hope it will never come to, but he absolutely has to serve as an emergency backup of sorts. The ministry, paperworks, all of it. In return, he can do whatever he wants as long as it isn’t connected to house Hevring anymore.”

Linhardt’s mother finally regained her voice, staring at her son, who had returned to smiling as his uncle explained the contract. She reached for the mage’s face, caressing his cheek as she visibly struggled to assess what was being said. Finally, she swallowed, frown not leaving her.

“Lin, does that mean… you’ll leave our family behind…? You don’t want to be part of us anymore…? You would rather be without a family at all?”  
The longer she spoke, the more Byleth could see tears beginning to form in her eyes. The revelations of the past days had probably taken a bit of a toll on her, no matter how upright and gentle she appeared to the outside, and hearing her son had taken official matters to remove his relation to her must have shocked her the hardest.  
Even Byleth hadn’t quite processed it yet.

“It’s not that drastic, dear”, her husband intervened, “we agreed that he can regain his title and return to our house if he wants to. Under specific conditions, of course.”

Probably a wife and children, Byleth couldn’t help but think.

“I won’t be without a family anyway”, the scholar added, pride radiating from his every pore. Once again, he held the sheet in his hands out for Byleth to read. Quickly scanning it, the archbishop found his name listed after a long string of text that explained what the Hevring men had just summarised for everyone in just a few words.   
The part that mentioned Byleth personally, however, was new.  
There was something about their marriage and Byleth’s family.

However, before he was able to read it in full, Linhardt already removed it from his view, brightly smiling at him instead. Emerald eyes sparkled with excitement as he beamed at Byleth.  
“I won’t be without a family”, he claimed, “because Byleth will be my family! Right? If you sign this, you’ll agree that I take up your name instead  – Byleth and I will be a family!”

Things still went a little too fast for Byleth to properly process. Under the dozens of eyes of everyone around him, feeling the piercing stares of Linhardt’s family, he picked up the contract in his fiancé’s hands to check it once again, and it seemed to be true.  
It spoke of Linhardt’s waiver of his title as inheritor to house Hevring, which both he and his father had agreed to via their signatures. If this went through, it would be the last thing the mage signed as “Linhardt von Hevring”.  
This process would apparently go into effect no matter whether or not Byleth agreed to the second part of the document, as far as he could tell, and while it seemed he was able to disagree with Linhardt’s request of taking over Byleth’s surname, he didn’t see any reason to do so. Once again, Linhardt had somehow managed to get his will, even if it took a few sacrifices. It almost shocked Byleth to see how eagerly he appeared to want to get out of his duties as a member of the Hevring clan.   
But at the same time, he was glad. He was glad Linhardt’s logical next step was joining Byleth’s family instead. He chose to carry Byleth’s name. They were going to be an actual family, just the two of them.  
It was such an honor.

“You’re going to agree, right?”

“Of cou – ”  
Byleth hadn’t even really finished replying as Linhardt, not caring for the people around them, for the display they were showing, threw himself around his betrothed’s neck with a happy sigh that was almost a squeal. Byleth struggled to keep his balance for a moment with how sudden Linhardt’s expression of happiness came, and he was just as much taken by surprise when the scholar followed this up with a fast but sweet kiss under the gasps and confused giggles of those around them.

Their surroundings almost disappeared as the archbishop closed his arms around his beloved’s hips.

  
“Linhardt!!”

Countess von Hevring gave her husband a few lights pats to the chest before he could even continue, wiped some tears from the corners of her eyes before they would roll down her cheeks under the looks of her servants. She sighed as her smile slowly returned.  
“Let them be, everyone will know about it once they’re married anyway. Sure, we’ll have to think of an explanation, but what’s more important is that he’s happy, right?”  
After another sigh, she turned to her son.  
“May your future be filled with nothing but hope. With happiness.”

As Byleth thanked her for her support, Linhardt drew out a handkerchief of his  – a new, clean one  – to hand his mother.  
“And it’s not like I’m  _ completely _ gone from this family, you know. Nothing will change the fact that we’re related by blood, the Crest of Cethleann will always be proof of that, after all.”

The Countess wiped away her tears, exchanged looks with her husband for a moment before her smile widened even further. Even Linhardt’s father couldn’t help but let a little bit of pride creep onto his face as he spoke up.  
“You’re very right about that. Noble or not, you will always be part of this bloodline. You’ll always be our son.”

The green-haired nodded in agreement, yawning as the tension of the last few hours seemed to fall off him in one swoop. He locked eyes with Byleth briefly until they begun to become too heavy for him to keep them open. He yawned again.

“Now that this has been resolved we can all take a good long sl – ”  
Linhardt’s entire body softened up as he toppled forward right back into Byleth’s arms. The ex-mercenary reacted quickly enough to catch him, holding him firmly in his embrace. He heard his future father-in-law yawn as well when he turned to leave for his own bed, but not before giving his son another small affirmative pat on the back.  
Under the renewed whispers and giggles of the house staff, Byleth picked up his fiancé like he had done so many times before and moved to carry him back to his room.

  
He tugged the mage into his bed, watched him for a moment as Linhardt almost instinctively wrapped the thick, soft blanket around himself and snuggled into the luxurious pillow. A tiny, satisfied smile begun to form on his lips again.  
Byleth took the contract, borrowed a quill and ink from Linhardt’s desk and added his missing signature to the field reserved for him. It was official now.

The archbishop returned to the bed, watching his sleeping fiancé for a few more moments. There was still a significant amount of red shades around his nose, which would surely soon turn purple. But he was sure, by the time of their wedding ceremony it would all be over and leave his soon-to-be husband as beautiful as ever. His heart almost skipped a beat trying to imagine him clad in brightly white garbs. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to wait that much longer until he was able to see the outcome in reality.   
He hoped the count and countess would still attend the ceremony, despite of today’s results.

Byleth pushed some of Linhardt’s green strands out of his face, placed a little kiss on his forehead.

  
  


“Sleep well, Linhardt Eisner.”

  
**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading this story! I'm a little nervous I might have rambled on for too long in this chapter but there were a few things I really wanted to add but didn't want to dedicate their own chapter to, that wouldn't have made any sense and just been even more rambly lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed your read! For now I'll work on zine fics, so there might not be coming much from me in the immediate future, but be assured I have other things planned. Once again, thank you for reading, bookmarking, your kudos and everything else! <3


End file.
